The Shepherd of shepherds - Fourth Sunday of Easter

One of the most beautiful images that Jesus uses to describe His love for the world is the image of the Good Shepherd. He leads the flock, guards them and protects them, feeds them, and – ultimately – lays down His life for them. And, in response, the sheep hear His voice and follow Him.

One of the strangest components of the Catholic Church is that Jesus gave this “image” – or “office” – to certain men. He invites Peter and the apostles to “feed my sheep” and to “tend my lambs.” That is, Jesus calls men (and, scandalously, sinful men at that!) to be shepherds. And that call is so univocal (I lack the right word) that Jesus tells His men-shepherds: “Whoever hears you, hears me” – through you, Peter and your brother priests, Jesus will speak to His flock. Make it easy for His people to hear His voice!

The Latin word for shepherd is “pastor” – which is where we get the English word ……… pastor. (Haha). A pastor is a shepherd. Pray for us priests, that we may be good ones!

***

This weekend, the Vocations Director of the Archdiocese of Saint Louis asked us priests to talk to our parishes about our personal vocation stories. On this blog, I will give the “director’s cut” – a much-extended version. I hope it glorifies God and not myself.

***

People sometimes ask: “Father, when did you know that you were called to be a priest?” And I tell them that it was just seconds before I walked down the aisle at ordination. But that’s a lie. Actually, I knew during the first week of 2010. I was 29. … I’ll come back to that in a bit.

But, when I look back on my life, I can tell that The Call was there since I was 5. Amazingly, I still have some memories from that age. When I was five, I remember sitting next to my dad at Sunday Mass. I also remember being a little squirrely at times and, on one occasion, I made it under the pew. And I laid there, just listening. I heard the people recite the Creed (even though I did not know what “the Creed” was back then) and it sounded like thunder – and I loved thunder. During storms, I would have the back sliding door wide open and lay down on the carpet and listen … until the rain was too much and the door had to be closed. So, early on, I equated Mass with something powerful, contemplative, and – the correct use of the word – awesome.

I remember the voice of the older Vincentian priest sounding deep and solemn. And I naturally thought: “That’s God!” The music was bright and catchy and, since I loved music even at that young age, I would return home and, on occasion, just lay on the couch humming one of the hymns. It’s like I was made for the Mass.

In retrospect, I am very grateful to my parents for always taking us to Sunday Mass. We were a soccer and sports-crazed family and we did club sports – even travelled on occasion before traveling was really a thing – but, even then, we always went. Or, at least, I have no recollection of ever missing. 

And so, at summer camp before third grade, when my group leader asked us kids to “draw what you want to be when you grow up,” I drew what I loved: soccer and Mass. So, I drew that I wanted to be a soccer referee … and also a priest. I couldn’t decide which one, so I drew both. This was not at a Catholic camp of any sorts, so I found myself having to explain what a priest was. I was nervous and felt a little “out-ed.” This was the first time I ever had to explain the faith to anyone.

By the time I was in seventh grade, unfortunately, I had been through some trauma: my parents divorced, we lost my childhood home, dad had become an alcoholic and also had mental issues, my remaining grandparents died, and my older brothers started to disappear into late high school and college. Later on, mom would tell me that I had a different heart – very sensitive – and that it was a good thing. But it was also a bad thing in that these events hurt deeply. I started to go to kids’ group therapy, where I initially learned about emotions and listening (to yourself and to others) and other things that are important … Strangely, during that time, I discovered that other kids in my school were also from divorced families (we think we are alone, sometimes!) and I found it important to listen. One of the nicknames I had back then was “Doctor Antwan” simply because I would listen. I thought “maybe I’ll be a psychologist someday….”

During this time, my mom was going through a little “reversion.” While we were Catholic growing up – going to Mass on Sunday, prayers before meals, celebrating Easter and Christmas with family – we didn’t do other Catholic things: read scripture, pray the rosary together, talk about a moral life of virtue. Catholicism was just kind of "baked in" to the background of life. It wasn't bad at all, just not at the forefront; "cultural" we would say now, but not "intentional." In short, Catholicism was a thing of life, but not The Thing. So, when things were getting tough, and mom was awakening to The Thing, she started reading scripture (I strangely remember her paging through the Book of Job) and going to Eucharistic Adoration. 

This devotion (“adoration”) was not nearly as popular back then as it is now. There weren’t many “adoration chapels.” So, one of the major outlets for this devotion was the Blue Army All-Night Vigil. This group had a great devotion to Our Lady of Fatima and, once per month, they would gather at a rotating list of parishes in Saint Louis, and would pray all night in front of the exposed Eucharist. Many people would come and go, of course, but mom would stay the entire night. And since I was not quite ready to stay home overnight – nor was she ready to let me stay home overnight by myself – my younger sister and I would come with … and I found myself laying down on top of (not under) the church pews. Even though I had made my First Communion and went to Sunday Mass, I did not know what this was. So, I slept.

When dawn came and the vigil ended, the gregorian chant Tantum ergo would be sung. Sheepishly, I will admit that this is when I started to love chant – it indicated that we were at the end and it was time to go home (and maybe get donuts en route). Yet, I am convinced that as I slept under the gaze of our Lord, I was receiving deeper graces of a vocation. “The Lord gives His graces to His beloved while they sleep” (Psalm 127:2).

In high school, I was floored when I discovered that men were teachers. At my Catholic grade school, we had a man as a principal and as a music teacher, so when a man was teaching English and another was teaching math and another was teaching history – I was amazed. Nothing against the very inspirational and motherly teachers of my grade school. It’s just that I was a boy and boys need good men. And suddenly I had a bunch of good men around – including some very faithful and amazing Jesuit priests. They were good men, wise, funny, serious when needing to be, and inspiring. The thought entered my mind … – and then disappeared as I discovered girls. 

Thankfully, I still continued in Sunday Mass, and there were stirrings in my spiritual life – times when I was close to waking up, but then would fall back to sleep: a retreat, a service project, a good confession, a tragedy, a euphoric joy, a powerful homily, a moving school play … High school and, later, college, was a time of riding waves between spiritually awake and spiritually sleep… Fully awake happened in May 2002. I was falling deep into existential despair. (Some of this was due to the enlightenment philosophy I was immersed in at the time; some of it was due to lack of a substantial foundation to counter it; and some of it was simply my own sinfulness). But the awake came in New Orleans, Louisiana.

I was with a group of my lovely bunch of Newman Center friends spending a week in New Orleans to do some service with Habitat for Humanity. During one of our days, for one reason or another, our work took us to Saint James parish catty-corner to the Superdome. We did some landscaping for the church and then fed the poor at the Feed My Jesus food pantry. I remember jumbalaya, gumbo, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and cokes. And I remember giving a sandwich and a coke to an older gentleman (older for me back then was 50 … goodness!) who had a graying beard and whose skin was white. Now, skin color has never really mattered to me. But it did at that moment because, well, I hadn’t actually met face-to-face a caucasian poor man.

As our eyes met, something hit in my brain: “He is better off than you.” I wanted to express charity to this man, but something was being given to me – and I didn’t like it. How was this man better off than me? I couldn’t get rid of the thought. It was like a splinter in a finger that couldn’t be removed. So, I gave it its due. And I still could not answer. I was nearing the end of a degree at a top-ten college; I had a car, a family, a girlfriend, and a shower that morning. This poor man – what did he have? How was he better off than me?

The answer came during that summer. I had “successfully failed” two of my classes (I love that oxymoron) and had been put on academic suspension; my relationship with my girlfriend was reaching its termination; and the existential despair was at its nadir. I was desperate – and, thanks be to the mercy of God – it led me to reach out to one of the Jesuit priests at my high school from years’ past. That wise priest, over the course of just a couple brief visits, diagnosed the issue and proposed the solution. 

The issue was that I had stopped praying. The deeper issue was that, when I had been praying, it had been mechanical and without the heart. And the solution was to say the Our Father slowly. … Later in the autumn, I embarked upon the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius Loyola. That changed everything.

First, I realized why God had reached down in New Orleans and told me that the poor man was better off than me: I still believed in a heaven and a hell, and I knew the line “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” and I intimated that this man in front of me may say a prayer for a bite of food, or a place to stay, or protection from danger – and maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t – but he was in a better position to do so than I was. I was the rich man who didn’t even know his spiritual poverty – the worst kind of poverty! – and I had nothing, really, to recommend me for heaven. I was a camel trying to fit through the eye of a needle – and my existential dread was a symptom alerting me to the illness. And God wanted to bring me healing. The thorn in the finger – the unmoveable thought in the mind – was the Divine Physician’s initial treatment.

Second, as I started to really pray with the heart, I realized I had always encountered the question “What do I want to be when I grow up?” – but never really considered: “What does God want me to be when I grow up?” I needed to ask Him this and pursue it.

That led me to grad school and Franciscan University and Rome and a whole host of experiences that awakened me all the more to God’s grace. I’d be remiss if I did not mention the last girl I ever dated. She really knew Jesus and she really loved. She was truly authentic and was integrating faith and charity. In short, she really wanted to do what God wanted – even if that meant letting me go. During our time, she went on a retreat and, while on retreat, visited the bookstore (very dangerous!). There was a book there that she felt was calling her – and it was for me. She bought it, brought it home, and put a note on it: “Anthony, I think you need to read this.” It was the book “A Priest Is Not His Own” by Fulton Sheen. I’m convinced that she perceived my vocation to the priesthood before I did.   

The desire to be a soccer referee, or a psychologist, or an inspiring teacher, or a helpful servant, or a child simply enjoying the Holy Mass and resting in the presence of Jesus and the heavenly Father – it didn’t “all come back.” Rather, as I read that book, it all became connected, like the tumblers of a lock falling on a key. A door was opening. … But if I was to go through it, it would mean the end of many things (it would also mean the beginning of many beautiful things! But I could only see the end. And that was terrible. … Besides my mother, I have never known a more loving woman than the last girl I dated).

So, after she let me go, I entered the seminary. 

While I was confident I was supposed to be there, I wasn’t convinced that I would become a priest. I was just so keenly aware of my faults and failings. Seminary was beautiful and difficult – it was like the three years when Peter was being so closely discipled by Jesus: times of walking on water, times of being rebuked for thinking like men and not God.

And so, finally, I arrive now at the first week of 2010. I was on a retreat before being ordained to become a Deacon. I was at one of my favorite places – the Lourdes Grotto at the Shrine of Our Lady of the Snows (in Belleville, Illinois) – and it was snowing. And I absolutely LOVE snow. There, at the grotto, I was praying the Rosary and, right as I began, I realized that I had said many, many Rosaries in the past few years, but I never really treated Mary like a person – more like a statue or an idea. So, I addressed her: “Mary …. what are you like?”

I continued to pray, now kneeling next to the Saint Bernadette statue, the snow about a half-foot deep. And I heard snow plows in the distance. … Mary had not yet told me anything, but I did feel a pull in my heart to pray for the men in the snow plows. It was snowing hard and I know it isn’t easy work. So, I prayed: “Lord, please bring those men safely home.”

Are you willing to suffer for them?

This was as clear as the “He is better off than you” from years ago. It was the Lord. … The question bothered me. I wanted to know more: What kind of suffering are we talking about? (Because there are many different kinds of suffering, Lord. Are we talking cancer, or what?). I received no other reply other than the invitation. And, by the end of the second decade of the rosary, I said yes.

By the end of the third decade of that rosary, it came to me that I should pray for the other people on the road that night. So, I prayed: “Lord, help those who are on the roads nearby – help them get safely home.” And, again, the reply was: “Will you suffer for them?” Lord, that’s a lot more people than snowplows, so I presume that means more suffering? … No answer … Middle of the fourth decade now …. Ok, fine, Lord, fine. Yes. I will suffer for them, too.

I get to the fifth decade and I realize this is a big snow storm, larger than Belleville. Lord, I say, this storm is probably hitting all of Saint Louis, so please bring them all home safely. … Will you suffer for them?... Lord, I say – somewhat frustrated – that’s a lot more people, and I already said I would suffer (I pause) …. Lord, I will suffer for whomever you want.

And that’s when I knew.

Because it wasn’t just about snow and cars and suffering. It was about love. Jesus was asking me, just like He asked Peter, “Do you love me?” Peter replied, “Yes, Lord, you know I love you.” Then suffer for them, feed them, tend them. Jesus was asking me the same things as Peter because Jesus was asking me to be like Peter, a pastor, a shepherd.

I also realized that Mary had answered my question about her – what are you like? She answered it by taking me by the hand and giving me to Jesus. “This is what I am like: my entire heart is His and with His and in His. I am the mother of priests.”

***

Some people ask what the best part of being a priest is. Changing bread and wine into Jesus is life-altering; freeing people in the confessional from sin – that’s tremendous; being able to turn water into holy water … opening the gates of heaven during Last Rites …. These are all such tremendous, tremendous gifts. But I think the best part of being a priest is the mystery of just having been called – and the gift of being able to see it and noticing the other hidden things that He is doing, often through me and (admittedly, sometimes) despite me. 

Which leads to the hardest part about being a priest: firstly, knowing that I will never live up to the call and, not simply that, but, having known that, at times refusing to seek or receive His help and rather think, in such dumb, really dumb ways, that I can do it myself. Oh, self-reliance is a brutal sin! … But the second hardest part is living in a post-Catholic culture. I liken it to a man who loved his wife but is now divorced and is trying to win her back. So many people have left the faith or are in the process of leaving (the suspicion of their priests and of the faith is a hallmark) and, well, how does one woo back his wife when she looks upon him with suspicion? – some suspicion being warranted, some suspicion not, and some being the result of her own foolish choices. That’s the hardest part.

But, as with Sacramental marriage, the spiritual marriage is healed and deepened by trust. And by holding hands again and praying together. If even just the Our Father slowly ……….

*** 

So, pray for priests. And pray with them. 

After ordination, my mom confided in me: “Your heart was always different than others.” This was a compliment. I think she saw that Jesus had given me His. She perceived my vocation before I did, too… Jesus giving me His heart: sometimes pierced, sometimes crowned, sometimes glorious, sometimes received, sometimes not … Totally unmerited and yet totally given.

It is as Pope Saint John Paul II said about his priesthood: “It is both gift and mystery.”

Given to me forever, and a priest forever: May 28th, 2011 -- just 15 years ago.

Tyrian - 2nd Sunday in Advent (A)

Repent! For the kingdom of God is at hand!

If I didn't know any better, I would think we were in the season of Lent. We hear the exhortation to be sorry for our sins and to confess them -- and we have so much purple in the parish church! When I was  a child, I had learned that purple was a sign of penance and that it was the color of Lent. But as an adult, I am a little surprised to hear the theme of repentance and see the color of repentance ... in Advent. So, what's going on? 

At the risk of being profoundly boring, the answer comes in the vestment that I am wearing. Most parishes have vestments for priests; but most priests have some personal vestments. The one I am wearing today is my own. And, because I am a Catholic Nerd (tm), I had it designed in a certain shade of purple. You see, when you are in a parish church in Advent or Lent, there are all different shades of purple, aren't there? Purple purple, grape, fuscia, indigo, lilac, violet, lavender, periwinkle ... But in the ancient days, there was a special shade of purple that was central to religion and to the empire. And that shade is called Tyrian.

Tyrian purple was the shade that the emperors and only the richest of the rich would wear. The reason why only they would wear it is because the dye was so difficult and so expensive to obtain. It would come from sea snails and would require thousands upon thousand of them. As a result, Tyrian purple became a sign of royalty. The dominus -- the Lord.

So, in Advent, not only does purple signify repentance. It also points us to the King: Jesus Christ, who is coming. 

We do not hear from Jesus in the Gospel today -- one of the few times -- but, instead, we hear from his forerunner, John the Baptist. The emperor, before he would come to a town or a country, would send heralds ahead, to announce his coming. "The emperor is coming! Clear the way. Smooth the road. Make straight his path!" In short, the herald would not only announce the emperor's coming, but would instruct the people to make his coming as easy as possible. That is what John is doing. He is announcing the coming -- the Advent -- of Jesus Christ the King (whose feast we celebrated two weeks ago, mind you) and John is instructing us to make it as easy as possible for Jesus to enter into our hearts and homes.

Repent! For the kingdom of God is at hand!

The King is coming. Do you not see his color?

But there is something more to this Tyrian than the coming king. There was a place that was known for Tyrian. In the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem -- the place where Jesus loved to pray, the Father's house where Jesus would preach and teach -- there was a special sanctuary that only the high priest would enter. That sacred chamber was called the Holy of Holies. At the entry to the Holy of Holies was a veil, a very large and heavy curtain, actually, made of yards and yards of fine silk and linen. What was the color of that veil you ask? It was Tyrian.

And woven within that Tyrian purple veil was gold thread, embroidery that formed seven pictures. Each of those golden pictures depicted the Seven Days of Creation. Why is this important? Because when our King, Jesus Christ, gave His life for us on the Cross -- His head crowned with thorns and, above His head, a declaration: This is the King of the Jews -- when our King gave His life, that veil in the Jerusalem Temple was torn in two. Right down the middle. The Evangelists note this detail -- because it was important. Why? Because they knew that that veil represented Creation Itself and, as it was torn in two because of the King's death, so too the Old Creation was coming to an end. A New Creation was breaking in.

This New Creation is marked by the fulness of peace forever. Isaiah, in the first reading, talks about how wolves and lambs will be at peace, leopards and young goats, cows and bears, calfs and lions, vipers and children ... all will be at peace. How does this peace come? By the King, the one who is anointed with the fulness of God's spirit -- anointing ... Messiah from the Hebrew, from the Greek: the Christ. 

Jesus is that King who brings that new creation and that fulness of peace -- a peace that you yourself enjoyed as you placed your manger scene together with all its animals surrounding the Infant King. Why are there animals there? It's not simply because Jesus was born in the manger; it's also because this King brings the New Creation.

This New Creation is the Kingdom that John the Baptist announces today, an announcement that says that this Kingdom is at hand. And how far is "at hand"? Put your hand out. That's how far. The New Creation, the Kingdom of Heaven, is not simply some future reality out there somewhere. It is here; the King is here! He is "at hand"! -- In fact, He is right there in the tabernacle. I will even say the same words as St. John the Baptist when I say, "Behold the Lamb of God. Behold Him...."

And I will be wearing this vestment. And I chose it to be Tyrian. This is Tyrian purple.

Because it is a sign of penance; it is a sign of royalty; it is a sign of that kingdom, the New Creation, and the fulness of peace. I am clothed in it. 

These three realities -- penance, royalty, peace -- they all come together in John's words: Prepare the way of the Lord. Make straight His paths. Make it as easy as possible for Jesus to enter your heart and your home today. He comes to bring you peace. He comes to bring you the grace to make a good confession and to be forgiven. He comes to give you the strength to offer that peace to all who you meet in the days ahead.

Doesn't that sound lovely? Isn't that better than the rat race that the world is offering you?

Hear then what Isaiah says: "His dwelling shall be glorious." Glorious. Heavenly. And it is here. It is being offered to you. Wrapped in royalty and peace. Wrapped in Tyrian.

Justice - 33rd Sunday in OT (C)

 I went to Catholic grade school in the 1980s. And during that time, I heard quite frequently that God loves me. This is wonderful and true and, frankly, none of us really actually fathoms how deep that love is. In fact, many people think it is a trite love, shallow, saccherine; we roll our eyes at the line. 

If I may be so bold as to suggest why. The reason why we aren’t moved much by God’s love is because we aren’t moved by His justice. And we aren’t moved by His justice because, well, some of us have do not know it. 

Hear what the psalmist says to us today: “The Lord comes to rule the world with justice.” 

Do we know what that means?

The word, “justice,” means to give to another what they deserve, to pay what is owed. If a farmer sells his crops, he is owed money for them; if a wife makes a dinner, she is owed our gratitude. We pay our money and we pay our thanks not from love or courtesy, but because of justice. Love would require something more – like giving the wife flowers or a backrub or some quality time.

Similarly, parents are owed a little labor from their children; “anyone… unwilling to work… should not eat” (2 Thess 3:7ff). If a young man is unwilling to help clean the dishes or mow the lawn, can he really demand that he is owed food? He is being unjust. If his parents feed him, they are being merciful.

Here, we can see that if we aren’t aware of justice, we can easily take love for granted. In fact, we can easily think that love and food are owed us.

This is true not only of our individual families, but of the communal family, our society. It is not just for a person who can do a job to just sit at home and collect welfare. It is an injustice not only to the community, but also to God who gave each of us talents to be used. 

Remember what Jesus said about the man who buried his talent: “You wicked and lazy servant! … Cast this worthless servant into the outer darkness where there is wailing and gnashing of teeth” (Mt 24:14ff).

Each of us owes God. The highest form of justice, which is what we owe God, which is called religion. This is the work that we are to do for Him – the first three Commandments speak of this; the greek word for work is “liturgia” from which we get the word Liturgy. What we do here today is not simply because we love God; it’s also because it is the bare minimum that we owe Him.

Monetary and governmental systems like socialism, communism, and hyper-capitalism are unjust systems and have always been condemned by Jesus which is heard through His body, the Church.

If we do not like this, if our hearts are hardened to God’s justice, hear what He says through the prophet Malachi: “all the proud and all the evil doers will be stubble, [that day of judgment] that is coming will set them on fire” (3:19-20).

When I hear this and then I hear the line “God loves me,” I realize that His love is a powerful love, a deep love, a rising sun – the “sun of justice with its healing rays” (Mal 3:20). If I don’t have a deep love for God, at bare minimum I should have a fear of His name and his justice (see Mal 3:20). I should at least do my duty to Him and to others. I must not take it for granted or presume.

Doing one’s duty – to God, to family, to the community – helps us from becoming busy-bodies. Notice what Jesus says, people will be all in a huff about world events – they will be on top of politics and conspiracy theories and talks of the anti-Christ. They are wasting time. And that is an injustice to God who has given them time – time to grow and to love and to know Him.

And so Jesus tells us: don’t be busy-bodies; rather, do in your duty, keep the faith. “By your perseverance you will secure you lives” in heaven (Luke 21:19). 

+ In the Name of the FAther and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

The Fool's Vindication - Homily for the 20th Sunday in OT (B)

 I am struck by Jesus' words this morning. He says, "I come not to bring peace, but division" and then outlines the many ways that families will be divided because of Him. It makes me wonder: should I simply dismiss His words as hyperbole? Or does He really mean it -- that He really comes to bring division? ... And I thought He was the Prince of Peace who, on the night of His Resurrection, breathed on His Apostles and said, "Peace be with you." So, what are we to make of Jesus' striking words this morning?

I will circle back to that in a bit, because, in order to get there, I think it is important to unpack the first reading from Jeremiah the prophet. (At Sunday Mass, the first reading often holds the key to unlocking the Gospel). So, a little context ...

King Zedekiah is the Jewish king of Judah and he has a counselor, Jeremiah the prophet. King Zedekiah is facing a grave decision: his city, Jerusalem, is about to be attacked by another king, a foreigner: King Nebuchednezzer, King of Babylon. King Zedekiah wants to fight and protect his city, but Jeremiah is telling the Jewish King to surrender. In fact, Jeremiah has been telling all of the people and the soldiers of Jerusalem to surrender. This counsel seems like foolishness. And the king's other advisers, the princes, demand that Jeremiah be cancelled.

That's where our first reading begins. The princes have Jeremiah thrown into a cistern, a well. And the well is mostly dry, but for a little mud. This well is in image of the Judah and the King's spiritual state: they are mostly dry. They have abandoned the Covenant and the Commandments of the Lord and have given themselves to false gods. There, in the mud of the well, Jeremiah sinks and becomes stuck. He is an image of Judah's predicament: they are stuck; they are unable to save themselves from the impending doom.

The problem is: the king and the soldiers and the princes and the people all think that they can save themselves. They are foolish.

One of men of King Zedekiah's court advises the king to spare Jeremiah's life, appealing to the fact that it is not a good idea to be the one who kills a prophet. So, taking from the Psalm (40), the Lord "draw [Jeremiah] from the pit, from the miry clay." This is where the first reading today ends. But if we want to know why Jesus talks about division, we must go a little further in the story of Jeremiah.

After Jeremiah is saved from the well, the king meets with him in private. Jeremiah tells the king again to surrender. And he warns the king that if he doesn't listen to him who is speaking for God -- if the king does not listen to God -- then Jerusalem will be burned to the ground, the people there will be slaughtered, and even the king's own family will be slayed in his sight. The king objects saying that if he surrenders, he will be taken captive and "they may mistreat me." Jeremiah promises him that the Lord has promised: you will be taken captive, but you will be spared and your life will be safe; otherwise, you will be tortured.

This warning doesn't convince King Zedekiah. He thinks surrender is pure foolishness. He doesn't see how God could work through that. So he and the people and the soldiers and the princes continue with their own plan (which included a foolish plan to align with another Egyptian Pharaoh (!)) -- and the King of Babylon, King Nebuchednezzer, defeats them all. Jerusalem is burned to the ground, the people there are slaughtered, King Zedekiah's family is slayed before him, and the king is tortured and his eyes plucked out. Everything that God has said through Jeremiah has come to pass.

Jeremiah, the fool, has been vindicated. 

King Zedekiah was the twentieth and last king of Judah. At the end of his reign, he and his people had given themselves over to the foolishness of the world. Jeremiah, who spoke with the wisdom of God, was perceived as a fool. And so they did not listen to him. In fact, they tried to kill him. In short, the division came because they were unwilling to listen to the prophet.

It is here that we can turn to Jesus' words about the family being divided.

Jesus tells His disciples that the wisdom of God which they bring will seem like foolishness in the eyes of the world. Think of this for a moment. How many things does Jesus say that appear to be foolish when compared to the common wisdom of the world?

-- love your enemies and do good to those who hurt you;

-- sell all that you have and give to the poor and you will have treasure in heaven;

-- lend and do not expect anything back;

-- the last shall be first...

And this is to yet say anything about the foolishness of the Cross -- that Jesus would go to His death not simply for His friends, but also for His enemies, even saying, "Father forgive them...."

This is the baptism (immersion) which He is in "agony until it is accomplished"; this is the fire of the Holy Spirit and His Love with which He brings to "set the world on fire." And it will be totally contrary to the so-called wisdom of the world. As Paul says: "The foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom" (1 Cor 1:25).

Consider some of the prophetic teachings of Jesus in the Church given under the power of the Holy Spirit:

-- do not use contraception, but be open to life and generously so;

-- have a great hopefulness even in what seem like hopeless situations; do not kill infants or the elderly; the human person and even suffering have incalcuable worth;

-- marriage is only between one man and one woman; and marriage is forever in good times and in bad;

-- God does mind if you skip Mass and you could lose heaven over it; that little host IS Jesus...

We could go on. And those who hold to these, like Jeremiah, are seen as foolish. And often, their children or their parents or their in-laws -- many who disagree with Jesus and His Church -- look at them as such. But the peace that Jesus brings is peace "not as the world gives." The world would have peace by inventing a "Church without Christ" (cf F. O'Connor), religion without the Cross, wisdom without the holy spirit, life without the agony and immersion into suffering; it would be love without Love.

Peace, however, comes only through union with Jesus Christ; union in His Holy Spirit who teaches through the Church. In the end, we who are foolish in the eyes of the world will be seen as wise in the eyes of God. That is what matters. That's where the true peace is: at peace with the One who is Peace. We will be drawn from the miry pit, the dry cistern of this world. And we who are fools, like Jeremiah, will be vindicated.

The Transfiguration and Man's Divinization - Talk for the Image of God Institute Benefit Dinner

 Good evening.

 We have many things to celebrate this evening. The first is the great feast day of our Lord Jesus’ Transfiguration. The second is the great work to which Michael and Heather Vento have dedicated themselves in founding the Image of God Institute. Wonderfully, this Institute and the Transfiguration go hand in hand – the Transfiguration, in fact, reveals the goal of the Image of God Institute. I will circle back to that in a bit.

 In the days before His crucifixion, Jesus took three of his disciples – Peter, James, and John – up Mount Tabor.There, Jesus showed Himself the source and the summit from which all humanity comes and for which we are all made. On that height, Jesus revealed the glory of His Divinity; He who is the “Light of the World” revealed the splendor of His light. For Catholics, an equivalent to this moment would be if light suddenly shined from the Eucharistic host (I would be rendered mute if this took place as I held Jesus in my very hands at the altar). This did once happen when St. Clare of Assisi raised the monstrance to defend herself and her sisters from ruthless barbarians, but I digress.

 What is tremendous in that moment of the Transfiguration of our Lord on Mount Tabor is that Jesus does not shrug off his human flesh in order to show his divinity. Rather, His divinity shines through his humanity. Even his clothes become dazzling white. In this, we see that He comes not only to redeem us, but to sanctify us and glorify us (“glory” being the “stuff” of God – that is the very technical, philosophical term: stuff)

 But, even more, Jesus comes to divinize us, just as Saint Peter, in Sacred Scripture, tells us: 

[Jesus’] divine power has bestowed on us everything … called us by his own glory and power. … so that through them you may become partakers in the divine nature … (2 Peter 1:4)

 “Partakers in the divine nature” – what does this even mean? How can we explain this? Saint Paul makes an attempt in his Second Letter to the Corinthians when compares the glory of Moses’ face with that of Jesus: 

[I]f the [Old Covenant] carved in letters on stone, was so glorious that the Israelites could not look intently at the face of Moses because of its glory that was going to fade, how much more will the ministry of the Spirit be glorious? … we, with our unveiled faces reflecting like mirrors the brightness of the Lord, all grow brighter and brighter [NAB: from glory to glory] as we are turned into the image that we reflect [that is, the image of God] …(2 Cor 3:7-8, 18)  

 Let me ask you a question: whose faces were glowing? Yes, it was Moses’. But Paul also says we will reflect the glory of the Lord. That “reflection” is not from a mere external rebounding of light, like the moon of the sun. No, the reflection will come from the Light Himself and from the transformation He accomplishes from within us – from our being divinized.

 Yes, Jesus not only wants a relationship with us; He wants to unite us to the deepest essence of His being.

 If this is the first time you are hearing this, it probably seems too much to fathom. And perhaps this is precisely the hole that the Image of God Institute rightly exists to fill.

 Let’s put this first part of the talk plainly, then. In the Transfiguration, we start to see clearly the reality (using the words of Saint Athanasius) that “God became man so that men might become gods.” How refreshing! Becoming a “nice person”—as nice as that is—is not the apex of the Gospel.

 Notice too how this refreshes what we say about the Eucharist, about how we eat the Lord’s “body, blood, soul, and … divinity.” How can we eat His divinity – and for what purpose other than to become Him? … You are—you become—what you eat! Your body and blood become one (in communion) with His body and blood. So … your soul and humanity… with his soul and … divinity. Yes, you become one. And not with His dead body, but with His resurrected, glorified body. This is a great mystery…

 And for men, for humanity, this divinization is impossible, but for God all things are possible.

 This is pure gift; it is the deepest grace.

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 One may ask: in addition to the Sacraments, how does God start to divinize us – or is it simply accomplished in the end?

 Pope Saint John Paul II, who is an important patron of the Image of God Institute, took up this very theme in his Encyclical Letter Veritatis Splendor (which is translated, the splendor of truth or the radiance of the Truth). In that letter, the Pope made many insightful connections.

 First, he says, 

Truth enlightens man's intelligence and shapes his freedom, leading him to know and love the Lord. Hence the Psalmist prays: "Let the light of your face shine on us, O Lord" (Ps 4:6).

 Notice the connection between Truth and Freedom and the light of Jesus’ face. Jesus, who promised us the Spirit of Truth, and that the Truth would set us free, is Himself the “true light that enlightens everyone (John 1:9).

 So, returning to the Transfiguration, we see that not only is Jesus’ humanity radiant, but it is Truth itself that shines. The Truth has a radiant splendor. And so, when we are in communion with the Truth, we too start to shine. We have seen in this in the faces of the innocent and the aged wise…

 Pope Saint John Paul II wanted us to rediscover the glory of the Truth when he promulgated Veritatis Splendor on this very feast day—the Transfiguration—nearly 30 years ago. That was not accidental. Popes like to promulgate letters of the feast days that highlight the letter’s essence. Here, Pope Saint John Paul II wanted us to grasp that the Truth is the Light in the Darkness (“the people in darkness have seen a great light”). Jesus is the Truth and His Light reveals who we are and who we are to become.

 In that same letter, however, in the opening paragraphs in fact, Pope Saint John Paul II highlights the problems facing the Church and her embrace of the Light of Christ.

 As I quote this at length, please remember that this was written nearly 30 years ago. 

Today …  it seems necessary to reflect on the whole of the Church's moral teaching, with the precise goal of recalling certain fundamental truths of Catholic doctrine which, in the present circumstances, risk being distorted or denied. In fact, a new situation has come about within the Christian community itself, which has experienced the spread of numerous doubts and objections of a human and psychological, social and cultural, religious and even properly theological nature, with regard to the Church's moral teachings. 

[off the cuff: doubts, for example, concerning what is male and what is female…]

 It is no longer a matter of limited and occasional dissent, but of an overall and systematic calling into question of traditional moral doctrine, on the basis of certain anthropological and ethical presuppositions. 

[so, this isn’t a thing just on the margins anymore; it is a widespread thing; he said that thirty years ago]

 At the root of these presuppositions is the more or less obvious influence of currents of thought which end by detaching human freedom from its essential and constitutive relationship to truth. Thus the traditional doctrine regarding the natural law, and the universality and the permanent validity of its precepts, is rejected; certain of the Church's moral teachings are found simply unacceptable; and the Magisterium itself is considered capable of intervening in matters of morality only in order to "exhort consciences" and to "propose values", in the light of which each individual will independently make his or her decisions and life choices. … as if membership in the Church and her internal unity were to be decided on the basis of faith alone, while in the sphere of morality a pluralism of opinions and of kinds of behaviour could be tolerated… 

[off the cuff: so, he is saying that the perception is that the Church really can’t speak authoritatively on these matters; she just wrings her hands; and, in the end Catholics think that “being Catholic” is a subjective matter which doesn’t actually mean conforming oneself with the perennial teachings of Jesus and His Church. Sound familiar?]

 In particular, the question is asked: do the commandments of God, which are written on the human heart and are part of the Covenant, really have the capacity to clarify the daily decisions of individuals and entire societies? Is it possible to obey God and thus love God and neighbour, without respecting these commandments in all circumstances?. (VS, 4)

 He spends the rest of the encyclical addressing these matters. To all of this, I just with to say: thanks be to God that we have the Image of God Institute that is attempting to address these problems through study of the Theology of the body and other of the saintly pontiff’s writings!

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 Finally, let’s turn to the other patron of the Institute, Pope Benedict XVI, who was also a close friend of Pope Saint John Paul II and who helped write some of his encyclicals. Pope Benedict built on his predecessor’s foundation when he wrote the encyclical letter Caritas in Veritate – Charity in Truth. It is worth quoting the opening few sentences: 

Charity in truth, to which Jesus Christ bore witness by his earthly life and especially by his death and resurrection, is the principal driving force behind the authentic development of every person and of all humanity. Love — caritas — is an extraordinary force …. It is a force that has its origin in God, Eternal Love and Absolute Truth. The search for love and truth is purified and liberated by Jesus Christ from the impoverishment that our humanity brings to it, and he reveals to us in all its fullness the initiative of love and the plan for true life that God has prepared for us. In Christ, charity in truth becomes the Face of his Person. (CinV, 1) 

“The plan for true life…” What is the plan for true life? That God should become man so that we may become gods. And what does it mean to become gods? That we should live as they do; that we should love as they love. 

In the person of Jesus Christ, Truth and Love meet. In the Transfiguration, not only does Truth shine, but so does Love. Together, they are radiant. And they shine not simply in His divinity, but also through the Body, our humanity. 

For true, authentic human development – growth in holiness, divinization – we must embrace the Truth of Love, not as something amorphous or as needing some subjective rendering, but as it is: as having definition as the Body of Jesus has, as united to the Divine, flowing from Him, who Himself loves to the end. In a word, we must conform ourselves to Him.

 Conformity and obedience are bad words in the modern world – but what the modern world does not understand is that it conforms itself to things and fads all the time! How many are blindly obedient to group think and the echo chamber? 

Here, Pope Benedict is particularly insightful when he notes, in his encyclical Deus Caritas Est, that conformity to God means loving as Jesus loved – and Jesus loved both God and neighbor.

 “Love of neighbor,” Pope Benedict wrote, 

consists in the very fact that, in God and with God, I love even the person whom I do not like or even know. This can only take place on the basis of an intimate encounter with God …His friend is my friend … If I have no contact whatsoever with God in my life, then I cannot see in the other anything more than the other, and I am incapable of seeing in him the image of God. 

So, in order to rightly love another, I must first meet God and learn to love Him.

 But there is more. Pope Benedict acknowledges that there are some who have met God and who love religion, but who fail to love their neighbor. Quote: 

if in my life I fail completely to heed others, solely out of a desire to be “devout” and to perform my “religious duties”, then my relationship with God will also grow arid. It becomes merely “proper”, but loveless. Only my readiness to encounter my neighbour and to show him love makes me sensitive to God as well. Only if I serve my neighbour can my eyes be opened to what God does for me and how much he loves me. (18) 

This is a very challenging statement for our times. How many are able to give insightful reflections on scriptures or saints, but fail to help out their roommates or take positions of leadership and volunteering in their parishes and communities? The splendor of the love of God which they currently enjoy will fade unless it is coupled with the love of neighbor! 

This is the great mystery of the Transfiguration. Love comes in the nature of God and in the nature of man – for Jesus loves both! 

The Transfiguration, then, comes as a gift to strengthen the Apostles as it is God and man both who will hang on the Cross – Jesus tries to strengthen their faith so as to love both. 

To conclude, Pope Benedict notes that Love and Truth 

cannot be produced: they can only be received as a gift. 

That which is prior to us and constitutes us — subsistent Love and Truth — shows us what goodness is, and in what our true happiness consists. It shows us the road to true development (CinV 52). 

When Peter and James and John encountered Jesus transfigured before them, bringing to them the glory of Love and Truth, it says they were “terrified.” But Peter finds the words to say: “Lord, it is good that we are here.” He then expresses the desire to establish a tent to Jesus and to Moses and to Elijah – that is, Peter longs to praise God for His glory. And even Moses and Elijah, for Peter recognizes and wishes to praise the glory of God in them. Moses and Elijah have become saints. They have been divinized in the “plan for true life.” 

May our evening here give praise to God. May it radiate the glory of God’s truth, His charity, and the working of His divine, merciful grace. 

This is the work of the Image of God Institute: to transform our minds and hearts so as to become all the more partakers of the divine nature and reflect our Savior’s glory. It is the glory, I am certain, which we will experience in Kasie’s testimony. And it is His glory that will lead us to praise Him and rejoice in Him. 

For “love rejoices in the truth” (1 Cor 13:6) 

God bless your evening and my God bless the work of the Image of God Institute.